


Good Intentions

by Lenore



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Snippets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-11
Updated: 2011-12-11
Packaged: 2017-10-27 04:47:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenore/pseuds/Lenore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fake dating for business leads to pleasure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Intentions

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to sometimesalways for the prompt!

"That's your hand, Mr. Eames."

"Keenly observed as always, darling."

"It's _on my leg_." Arthur articulated each word precisely, the kind of diction people generally feared.

Eames just grinned. "My hand is exactly where it belongs. Or have you forgotten what we're doing here?" He squeezed Arthur's thigh, as if Arthur needed any reminders. Everywhere he looked, there were men paired off, making small talk and sipping at glasses of ridiculously overblown Pinot Noir. Apparently this was the new hotspot for gay men looking to connect and Irish mobsters brokering arms deals.

"I wish this were a dream, so I could shoot you in the face," Arthur informed Eames with a flirty tilt of his head and a smile that showed his dimples. Anyone watching would believe all he wanted was to get into Eames's pants.

"Not threatening to shoot me in reality is positively courtly coming from you, darling. Consider me wooed." He caught Arthur's hand and held it. Arthur decided, rather grudgingly, that slapping Eames away might not be the best way to convince people they were on a date.

 _Our third date_ , Eames had insisted when they'd been planning the job. Arthur had made the mistake of asking how that could possibly matter, and Eames had gleefully informed him, _Because on the third date, I could take you home and shag your brains out without anyone needing to feel slutty about it._

Arthur's scowl had done nothing to dim Eames's amusement.

"Morgenstern just arrived," Eames said, taking a nonchalant sip of his alarmingly pink cocktail.

Arthur glanced into the mirror on the opposite wall, pretending to fix his hair, locating the mark and tracking him to a table tucked into a back corner. Their assignment was simple enough: find out who Morgenstern was doing business with. All they had to do now was wait.

Eames' hand started to move on Arthur's leg, light and teasing on the upstroke, fingers straying ever closer to Arthur's crotch, nails scraping over the fabric of Arthur's trousers on the down stroke, aggravating and arousing and so very Eames. _Just do the job, and you can go back to Paris and get the hell away from Eames._ Funny how that didn't sound nearly as good as it should have.

"Morgenstern's not a man to be kept waiting. Won't be long now." Eames leaned in close to press his lips against Arthur's throat. When Arthur stiffened, Eames huffed out a breath. "Darling, have you ever actually been on a date?"  
Arthur didn't dignify that, although truthfully it had been a while. He tended either toward tidy one-night stands or intricately involved relationships in which curtains were purchased and in-laws were visited on a regular basis and anniversaries were carefully observed. Who actually dated anymore? He certainly couldn't imagine Eames filling out a profile on Match.com or being set up by friends. More likely he'd pick up someone at a blackjack table in some shady casino and, after three blurry days of sex and substance abuse, turn up accidentally married.

That it was utterly irrational to be furious with Eames for his careless, imaginary matrimony didn't stop Arthur from glaring at him indignantly.

Eames, blithely unaware that he was being judged for his make-believe offenses, remained focused on the job, which should have pleased Arthur and didn't. "Here it is then."

Arthur surreptitiously glanced over. _Fuck_. He hadn't thought it would be the Chechens, and he'd certainly hoped never to see Lecha again, after that thing with the Russians and the stolen Kandinsky and Dom really starting to go off the rails about then. He surged forward, catching Eames by the lapels of his god-awful jacket, pushing their mouths together, hiding in the kiss before Lecha spotted him.

He might have expected at least a little surprise on Eames's part, but it was as if he had been preparing for this moment for years. He fell into the kiss, his body pressed flush against Arthur's, hands sliding up Arthur's back to tangle in his hair, lips moving firmly, deliberately, his tongue touching Arthur's. Some truly embarrassing noises found their way out of Arthur's mouth, and he curled his hands into even more of a death grip on Eames's jacket and kissed him again, not at all because he was hiding.

"Darling." It sounded different than usual, sincere and hopeful and soft around the edges. Or maybe Arthur just hadn't been listening before.

There were things he could have said to put a stop to it: _We're finished here, Mr. Eames_ or _The client is waiting for our report_ or _That was a mistake_. But Eames was smiling, his eyes bright and pleased as he drew his thumb fondly along Arthur's cheek, and Arthur really wanted to kiss him again. So he didn't say anything.

Eames kissed Arthur's fingers. "Come to Mombasa with me?"

Arthur thought about Paris and his apartment and the little patisserie around the corner where he went every Sunday for his favorite pastry, the one with the custard and the bitter chocolate. He thought about reality, how it might not stand up to the slow, torturous pleasure of a long-denied possibility.

He could have told Eames no. A part of him even wanted to.

"Well," he said at last. "I suppose, since this is our third date and no one will need to feel slutty about it—"

Eames smiled, happy and dazzling, and he leaned close, his voice filthy with promises, "Good. Because I want to fuck you for the first time in my own bed."

Reality, it appeared, was going to hold its own very nicely.


End file.
